Spirits
The bitter taste of that wretched soup lingers on my tongue, no matter how many times I rinse with water. My stomach churns at the memory of its murky green color and the way it slides down my throat like sludge. Every time they bring it, I gag, but Dr. Reeves watches until I finish every drop.
Time blurs. Sleep. Wake. Examination. Soup. Sleep again. The purple lines that traced my veins like toxic rivers slowly fade, along with the bone-deep ache that made even breathing hurt.
A tickle on my nose pulls me from another drug-induced nap. I blink, then freeze. A sphere of pale blue light hovers inches from my face. Within its glow, features shift and change - the suggestion of eyes, a nose, the curve of what might be a smile.
I hold my breath, certain I'm hallucinating. The orb bobs closer, and I could swear it's studying me with curiosity. A delicate tendril extends from its form—an arm? A hand? It reaches toward my cheek.